


Of All the Stars

by misdemeanour



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Lazy Mornings, like really shamless self-indulgent fluff'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 18:09:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9836984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misdemeanour/pseuds/misdemeanour
Summary: Fareeha and Angela share a moment before the day starts. Angela is reluctant for it to end.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sushiiimi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sushiiimi/gifts).



> For Brandi.
> 
> Thank you to Nhu and Ruth for making this better than it was.

Dawn breaks softly, quietly.

Sunrise paints the bedroom from pre-dawn grey, to the fiery orange of early morning. There's something liminal about the time between dawn and the morning proper, like it didn't quite exist and for a little while, neither did you. No pressure to be or do anything.

Maybe that's why Angela didn't mind waking up before the alarm (which she turned off), or enjoying the warmth of the woman beside her. Fareeha is asleep, and for once, peaceful. Last night, it was as if the world bore down on her, and Angela had wanted to smooth the worry from her brow. To maybe carry some of that burden. She conceded with talking her into going to bed early.

Stress, though common in their line of work, isn't something Fareeha deals with properly. No, she has a habit of swallowing it down instead, pretending it doesn't exist. Which is, ostensibly, a horrible thing to do but something she's resisting to work on. (Or more accurately, admit she does in the first place.)

Angela closes her eyes, takes a breath to center herself. A moment later, Fareeha stirs. She smiles briefly, radiant even while half-asleep with her hair all mussed.

"Good morning." Her voice is a rumble of grogginess. Angela returns the smile, cups her face and brushes a thumb over her cheekbone.

"And to you, liebling." She traces the subtle lines of the udjat tattoo. Gently, Fareeha takes Angela's hand in her own, presses a kiss to the palm.

"I could get used to this," She says softly, a mixture of wonder and wistfulness riding the words. "waking up next to you."

It's not often they can. Work and missions and debriefs inevitably drawing them to separate ends of one watchpoint or the other, and in some rare cases, the world. But this moment is theirs, and Angela will savor the small peace they are given; Fareeha is leaving for a week—a mission in Cairo—and she'll be damned if she doesn't enjoy what time left she has with her.

"Me too." Angela inches closer to her. An arm drapes across her waist, and she hums, content to lay in bed a little longer. Being curled around Fareeha brings a certain sense of comfort and security. Idly, Fareeha runs a hand through Angela's hair. It's all she can do to fight off the urge to close her eyes again. She'd just fall back asleep, and Fareeha does have a way of making her feel safe.

"We'll need to get up soon." Angela says. Fareeha makes a noise of acknowledgment, fingers still playing with her hair. Unfazed by her pointing out the obvious and in no real hurry.

A comfortable silence falls over them, for a minute. Fareeha's hand stills, resting, instead, on the nape of Angela's neck. Fareeha's other hand sits on Angela's hip, anchoring her to the bed, to this moment. The lazy circles Fareeha draws on her skin send a shiver down her spine.

"It wouldn't do to have someone sent looking for us." She adds, though there's no urgency in her voice. Another noise of acknowledgment. Neither of them move. Neither of them want to.

"Yes, I suppose you have a point," Fareeha says eventually, and Angela can hear the pout. She shifts so she's propped on her elbow, peeking over Angela's shoulder. "but your clock says we have five more minutes." The grin that erupts on her face borders on silly. Angela can't help but giggle, hiding her face in the fabric of Fareeha's sleep shirt. Realization makes her grow somber.

"I'll miss you." Angela mumbles more to the deep blue shirt than Fareeha. Hard to admit it, hard to let the words tumble out of her mouth so carelessly. This, what they have, isn't something she's used to, will take time getting used to. What scares her the most, maybe more than Fareeha leaving, is how she makes her feel by the simple act of doing so. (Vulnerable, worried —always, always worried because it's no secret she could very well _die_ while away, and if Angela could find some way, some reason to accompany her on the mission then it wouldn't be half as bad.)

"I'll be back." She says simply, with enough conviction for Angela to believe her.

"It's the waiting that kills me." The heavy truth of it sits between them, sits in the pit of Angela’s stomach. A too familiar ache will bloom in her chest, as it has so many times before when she leaves. Angela moves away a bit, searching Fareeha's face.

"I know." With the back of her fingers, she brushes blonde bangs out of Angela's face. She pauses, taking in the sight of her before leaning forward and kissing her forehead, once, twice. "But—“

"Duty calls." Angela finishes for her. Bitterness edges into her tone. It is always duty that beckons either of them away, so married they are to their careers. How hypocritical of her to hate the way Fareeha tosses herself at every available mission, when she does the same with research and surgery.

"Unfortunately." Fareeha attempts a smile, but it doesn't quite work. The sight is sad. "Though it's you that brings me home. Remember that." Warm fingers tilt Angela's chin, making their eyes meet. Fareeha's brown eyes soften. (And Angela thinks, of all the stars, she is the loveliest.)

Angela brings her in for a kiss, deep and slow, committing to memory the feel of Fareeha's lips on hers. In silence, they agree to move from the bed, to start the day. As she adjusts the corner of the sheet, she sneaks a look at the clock sitting on the bed side table. In two hours, Fareeha and a couple of other agents will be on their way to Cairo. In two hours, Angela’s waiting will begin in earnest. A hand on her shoulder rescues her from her thoughts. 

"I wouldn't recommend leaving the room without pants." Fareeha says. She holds a pair of Angela’s slacks.

"Slow and steady wins the race." Angela replies smoothly, taking the pants from her. 

"Slow and steady is stalling." There’s no accusation in her words, only light teasing. It’s reflected in the smirk lifting the corner of her mouth. 

“Be that as it may.” Angela says. Fareeha's chuckle is warm, rich, like whiskey. For now, they have the time between and before and that will be enough.


End file.
